


Cold (then hot)

by bad_decisions



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Anal Sex, BDSM, Begging, Blow Jobs, Caring Dom, D/s, Explicit Consent, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Grey Warden Stamina, Humiliation, Kneeling, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Praise Kink, Punishment, Sub Alistair, Trans Female Character, Trans Warden, Trans Woman Warden
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-24
Updated: 2015-10-24
Packaged: 2018-04-27 21:14:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,152
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5064403
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bad_decisions/pseuds/bad_decisions
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's a cold day traveling Ferelden in the snow. Cerridwyn warms Alistair up that night, in a very much appreciated way.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cold (then hot)

**Author's Note:**

> this work can also be found here http://nonbinarygreywarden.tumblr.com/post/120444513902/cold-then-hot on my tumblr
> 
> Cerridwyn is themageunderground.tumblr.com’s Warden, so credit for her goes to them

Alistair was freezing. Winter had snapped suddenly the night before, and they’d had to shake snow off their tents that morning. There was frost in the air, and it was only getting worse as they headed south to Ostagar.

Cerridwyn had offered them all – all the non-mages – a charm of warmth, but they’d all said no, because they were stupid and noble, and because she needed to save her mana. What if they were attacked? Then what?

So he shivered on his horse, hands deep inside his cloak, cursing the cold and whatever in his blood made him weak to it. Both his parents had been Fereldan, had they not? Ah, maybe his mother was from Orlais, or something. Orlesians couldn’t handle the cold, Duncan had been proof of that.

And now he was sad as well as cold. Fantastic.

Cerr leaned over and set an apple on the saddle in front of him as she passed, and in trying to catch it before he rolled off, Alistair nearly missed the smile that accompanied it.

“I’ll warm you up tonight,” she promised.

Alistair raised an eyebrow. It was too cold to blush, thank the Maker. No matter how many times Cerr told him he looked sweet, he just felt silly. “Oh?”

 “Mm.” Her smile widened, the hint of teeth at one side, a vow in her eyes. Alistair’s heart thudded at it. Then she was gone, riding ahead to talk to Leliana about what route they should take.

Alistair smiled after her for a few seconds, before shaking himself and biting into the apple. Maker’s blood, but he loved her.

~~~

“Alistair,” she murmured through the dark, as he ducked through the tent flap, and as soon as he was inside she kissed him.

She was wearing her cloak still, big heavy swirling thing, pulled Alistair’s hands inside and he realised that that was all she was wearing. Cerr pressed his hands to her sides, jumped a little at the cold, but let him warm them there. They kept kissing, crawling on their knees further into the tent, Cerridwyn biting his lip, weaving her hands into his hair, Alistair giving, yielding with the delight he always did, until they were both panting, flushing – hardening.

 “What do you want?” She always asked.

“At – mm, at your feet, Cerr. Yours. Always.” The words never came out as smoothly as hers did, but he always said them. She needed him to – said she felt too much like the Templars otherwise, just taking.

She pulled away from the kiss, teeth white in the dark of the tent as she smiled. “Good boy.” Alistair shuddered. Her voice had gone low, commanding, pleased with herself and with him. “Undress for me.” She stood, short enough that her head only brushed the canvas of the tent.

Alistair stayed on his knees. Where he belonged. He fumbled for the hem of his shirt, pulling it up; the cold licked over his chest and he gasped. He could feel the shivers in his blood as his fingers ran across his skin; feel the pride as her glowing eyes in the dark widened, then narrowed, in desire for him; feel the pounding of his heart in his throat urging him towards her; his Cerridwyn, as he was hers.

His pants were a bit of a struggle, in the limited space of the tent, and he wasn’t sure he managed to get them off in anything near to a seductive manner – but Cerr wouldn’t care.

When he was in just his smalls, shivering in the cold, he looked up at her shyly, teasingly. “Do you want to do the honours, Cerr?” Just Cerr – no ‘mistress’, no title, but said with all the respect and love he had.

She laughed, very quietly. “No, Alistair. I think I’ll watch.”

He licked his chapped lips, and hooked his thumbs into the band of his smalls. He couldn’t read her, or what she wanted – just off? did she want a show? – and really, he should stop trying. Just what she told him – and she would tell him, and he trusted that. Follow her orders, and he would please her. He pulled them off, and blushed when his cock sprang free, sticking out from his body.

Cerr tapped her fingers under his ducked chin, and he raised it. “Beautiful.” He smiled. Still shy, but proud at her words. “It’s almost a shame I’m going to have to hide you away now.”

He nearly asked, confused, but managed to bite back the question. She would’ve noticed, her elf-eyes seeing far more in the dark than his could. He hoped his obedience pleased her.

She stepped closer, holding her cloak open, and then wrapped it around him. The warmth was a relief, and he sighed. Even if it did smell like wool and Barkspawn.

“What do we say?” Cerr prompted, a hand resting lightly in his hair.

“Thank you,” Alistair murmured, against the thigh so close to his nose. He nuzzled it slightly, warming his cold cheek. She smelled like sweat and the dirt of the road. “Thank you, Cerridwyn.”

“Good boy.” He couldn’t see her, but he could hear that she was smiling. “Now. Suck me.”

He obeyed gladly. She tasted like salt as he licked up her shaft, and the rasp of his tongue over soft, loose skin felt as sweet and portentous as ever. He took the head into his mouth, Cerr’s hand clenching in his hair when he swirled his tongue across the tip, and he relished the sting in his scalp. His hands stayed by his sides, for as much as he wanted to touch, to hold her, he had been given permission for only his mouth.

When she tugged, Alistair sank his head down, as far as he could go. He went slowly, listening to the tremble of her breath, until his nose was pressed against the very base of her mound. It was a trick he had mastered but recently, and hadn’t she praised him when he had? His throat stretched around her, and he could feel the lump that was her in him when he raised a hand to his neck, and oh, _oh_ , he was _hard_. 

He swallowed, throat rippling around her, drawing a sigh from her lips, and pulled back. Half her length in his mouth, he pulsed his cheeks, rubbed his tongue over the underside of her cock, felt her, the flesh and the woman he knew so well. Heat flushed him, from his thighs, from his cheeks, from his groin, and he forgot all about the cold and the ice of the day, there and warm at Cerr’s feet.

Alistair kept going, sucking, licking, fucking his face on her cock in perfect fullness, and Cerr moaned praise above him, fingers grasping and stroking across his head, his face, his neck. _Good, good, good,_ fell from her lips, _good boy, good boy_.

She was pleased, and that made Alistair warmer than anything.

After a time, Cerridwyn took over. Alistair had had his fun, and now she would take him, ride his face until she came in his mouth. He obeyed her touch, and she thrust her hips against him. Held his head still with hands woven deep in his hair. Thrust, again. His throat opened to take her down, and he groaned, and she groaned in reply.

Soon she started to shudder, and he could taste precome, readied himself to swallow – and she pulled him off.

Alistair whined as she did, at the loss of her, of her weight on his tongue.

“Shh,” Cerr panted.

Alistair bit his lip. “Please, Cerr. Please, let me –”

Her fingers dug deep into his shoulder, holding him back. Any harder and it would bruise. “No. You do as _I_ say, boy.”

He nodded and hung his head. He shouldn’t have said anything. He’d spoken out of turn – would she hold it against him?

Cerr stepped back, and Alistair gasped at the rush of cold over his heated, sweating skin. “On your back, on the bedrolls.”

He scrambled to obey, lying back on their bedrolls pushed together, head propped on a bag. His chest heaved, and he tried not to let his teeth chatter.

Cerr draped a blanket over his chest, tucking the edges in with a tender touch that was lacking as she shoved his legs apart. The muscles in Alistair’s thighs stretched as his legs were pushed. Maker, he loved the feeling. At night, in his Chantry dorm, he’d done it himself, spreading his legs and biting one wrist to stay silent, other hand on his cock – but it felt better, unbelievably better, to have Cerr’s hands to do it.

When the cloak wrapped again about his legs, when Cerridwyn knelt between them, when he heard the familiar sound of a vial being uncorked… Alistair felt he could barely breathe in anticipation.

_Please_. But he didn’t say it. He was good.

Cerr hooked his legs over her shoulders. The cloak covered him again, and Alistair felt warm, and then he felt her fingers. Sticky with oil, they stroked down the inside of a thigh, and he could feel the wet trails they left still clinging to his sensitive skin. “Cerr,” he breathed, “Oh, Maker, Cerr.”

She smiled at him. There was lust in her face, hunger, but tenderness too, a careful balance that perfectly matched both their needs. Alistair smiled back, eyelids fluttering. “Close your eyes,” Cerr ordered. It wasn’t much darker with them shut, but it made him feel even less like he knew what was coming – other than Cerr, presumably. And maybe him.

A drop of oil. Just one. One… cold… drop from Cerr’s finger, and it landed with a _pit_ on Alistair’s cock. It was the first touch he’d had there yet, and it made him arch off the ground with a moan, legs clenching tight on Cerr’s shoulders. And it stayed, warming, but he could still feel it. Had she done it on purpose?

Cerr pushed his hips down again, and tutted. “Impatient. I didn’t tell you to do that, boy.”

“Sorry!” Two infractions. Would she – surely she would. She couldn’t ignore that. Anticipation heightened as Alistair wondered what she would do; the slight tinge of fear, but not in a bad way, never that.

And then he forgot all about it, because the first of her fingers was in him, and she was ordering him to relax, and she curved her finger and stars danced in his belly and shot through him to his cock. Cerr was panting, and Alistair remembered she hadn’t come yet either. She must be _aching_ – but she showed no sign of it.

She stretched him slowly, torturously, until it was all he could do not to writhe and beg under her hands. Four fingers deep in him; every few seconds she would curve them sharply, and the stars would come back.

When she pulled out, Alistair’s body wanted him to cry out at the loss – but he knew why. He knew what was coming. He saved his cry up, saved it for when her cock pushed into him, let his head fall back and the sound come loud enough to disturb the others. He’d likely care about that later, but not now.

Cerr was careful, as she always was, at first. Finally, finally, she was hilted in him, and there she stayed. “Beautiful,” she panted. “So beautiful like this, all for me.”

“Yours,” Alistair answered her, his own breath high and tight in his chest, every tiny movement of his or hers reminding him of her inside him – not that he needed it to. He knew, he loved it. The slight burn of the stretch, slickness of oil inside him, and full. So full. Of her.

Cerr ground down slightly, pushing deeper when Alistair had thought she was all in, a long “Ohhh,” dragging deep from her throat.

When she dragged back, the stars returned. And then again when she pushed in.

Alistair chased them, as much as he could, holding onto the feeling, letting it amplify and resound through the hollow spaces in his mind and body. For a short time, with Cerr, he could almost forget… everything. Save him and her.

Cerr’s hand braced beside Alistair’s chest as she leant forward, rising up and over him on her knees and bending him in half. “I’m going to fuck you,” she growled, “until you’re wincing as we ride tomorrow.” She could do it, too. The Taint in her veins, and his, meant they could go much longer than others. It was an… interesting side effect.

Alistair tilted his hips up as she started to thrust in earnest, giving her a better angle. His cock throbbed, and the stars still glimmered every time she dragged over that place inside him.

It wasn’t until they were both huffing, sweating, moaning, that Alistair realised through his haze – she wasn’t touching him.

She didn’t touch him when her hand came to his waist, pulled him up, made him arch his back for her.

She didn’t touch him when she angled her hips, cock stabbing over and over and over into the sweet spot inside him.

She didn’t touch him when she pulled nearly out, when she slammed home, when Alistair was so full and intoxicated with pleasure that all he could _feel_ was his cock, the desperation, _something, anything, please_.

Correction – she touched him. But not where it counted most.

And he _needed_ her to.

When her hand trailed over his hip, when it passed _just_ by where he most wanted it, Alistair couldn’t stop the whimper escaping his lips.

Cerridwyn laughed, a quivering sound past her own arousal, but with the devil-may-care tone of complete control she always bore in these times. “What – mn – what is it that you want, boy?” She knew, blast it, oh, _oh!_ More stars.

But he had permission. “Touch me! Touch me, Cerr, please –”

“I don’t think so. You’ve been so,” her fingers trailed again, “very,” they missed his cock by a hair, brushed his balls, “bad.”

He waited. She would tell him what she wanted, what he had to do to please her, and then he would do it, and she would call him good again.

“Boys who can’t wait need to learn,” Cerr groaned, never ceasing in her steady thrusts, driving him to distraction even as he hung on her every word. “And since you like to speak out of turn, ask me – _hah_ – ask me for things… I think a bit of begging is in order, don’t you?”

He felt his face warm in the dark. Begging was… an interesting thing for him.

“Please,” he moaned.

“Do better.”

“Please! Maker, Cerridwyn, please, please, touch me!” His face was getting redder. He couldn’t see it, but he could feel it. Desperate, needy thing, begging for his lover’s touch that he was, hot shame curling in his belly and somehow feeling sweet, driving him on, humiliating himself to her, _for her_. “I can’t – oh, please!”

Her hipbones met the tops of his thighs so hard he knew that he would have bruises tomorrow. “How does it feel? How much do you want it?”

“I – I – Cerr, I’m hard, I’m so hard.” The words felt awkward as they left his lips. He wasn’t any good at this, and he hoped she would last until he managed to fulfil her command. Otherwise he’d be left to curl up with her, still leaking in his smalls, and spend the night without any kind of release. “You in me, c-claiming – oh! – me, I’m all yours, only yours, and it feels like there’s nothing else. I want it so much, I want you to have… ngh. Me, all of me, and it hurts, and I want it! Please, Cerr, please touch me, anything!”

“More.”

He was glad his eyes were closed. It made it easier. “I can’t – I don’t know – I want you, Cerr. I want you. Please, please, please!”

She did nothing. Just kept thrusting into him, and he could feel the truth of her promise building – he’d feel tonight all tomorrow. Stars, and stars, and stars struck through him, and he kept begging, but he no longer knew what he was saying. He fell to incoherence, insensibility, vaguely recognising the shape of his lips in the word _please_ as it wrung out of him with every thrust, every pulse of his weeping cock.

And then she did.

She kissed his knee, beside her head, and then wrapped her hand – _at last_ – around his length. “Good boy,” she gasped, driving her hips down again. “My good boy, my Alistair.”

Lost as he was, Alistair found the right response, a near-sob of, “Thank you!” as her hand started to move.

Slowly at first, languorous, the smooth of her hand over his heated flesh. Her skin was soon wet with his precome, gathered in a pool on his belly from so long untouched, and her fingers slid over soft skin with ease.

Her hand pulsed, squeezed, suddenly, and Alistair cried out. Light had been good, but hard was _better_. He had waited too _blasted long_ for _light_.

Cerr’s hand quickened, slapping his base in time with the frequency of her thrusts, and it seemed she was letting herself go now, bringing them both to the end. Alistair could feel it coming, pressure building in his base, pushing out. Rising to meet hers.

Her cock scraped over the sweet spot again, and Cerridwyn’s thumb rubbed over his slit, and this time, he saw not just stars. He saw the galaxy burst in front of his eyes, felt rushing through him, and came with aching relief over Cerr’s hand. “Cerr, Maker, Cerridwyn!” He cried, and she gave a strangled groan in response.

He clenched around her – couldn’t help it, but it was all she needed to drive her over the edge too. She came with a gasp, a moan, a near-scream, bent forward over him and buried deep inside him, and he felt the heat of her seed filling him. Marking him, over again, as hers.

They shuddered with each other for a bare second that stretched to eons, and sighed as it came to an end. There was no sudden collapse – it was a finish, but it was not a breaking. Together still they were. She pulled a rag from a bag by Alistair’s head, and lazily cleaned him off as she pulled out.

Cerr rearranged the blankets around them and swirled her cloak over top, keeping them warm against the chill that still somehow found its way into the tent, for all the heat they had produced together.

As Alistair curled up, shivering, under Cerr’s chin, he spared a thought for all the noise he’d made, and smiled ruefully. There was a reason, after all, that they pitched their tent far away from the others.


End file.
